


A Night with the Healer

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Massage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nightmares, Past Abuse, bonding over booze and PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***Rhapsody-related crackfic***</p><p>Cullen is happily married to the Hawke of his dreams, but nightmares of his last days in Kinloch Hold still plague him. Thankfully, thanks to another Hawke, Anders is under the same roof, and Anders, of all of them, understands a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night with the Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mevima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/gifts).



> This is not Rhapsody canon. At all. In fact, you don't even need to have read Rhapsody for this one. All you need to know is that there are three Hawke brothers in addition to Carver and Bethany.
> 
> For Mevima, who has been enthusiastically awaiting this. Yes, I'm working my way through the pile of gift fic I was supposed to have finished two months ago.

Cullen opened his eyes to find Anders lingering in the library's doorway. He should've known that would've woken someone besides just Mintaka. "Sorry. I just... still not sleeping well."  
  
"I noticed," Anders teased, smiling as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "Do you want something for that? I've got something that'll get you a couple nights of sleep a week, but it'll leave you a little stupid in the morning."  
  
"Can't be stupid." Cullen sighed and took a sip from the glass that still hung, forgotten, from one hand. "They'll eat me alive."  
  
"Demons?" Anders asked, pausing to warm himself by the fire, before he poured himself a glass of the anise liqueur he kept atop the mantel. He closed his eyes, as Justice protested, and knew he wouldn't be finishing the drink.  
  
"It never gets better. I thought the demons I'd seen were bad enough, but the longer I spend in this city, the weirder the dreams get. Always something new. Always something terrible." Cullen rubbed his face and shuddered, like a dog shaking off water. "I never hear you. How do you sleep?"  
  
Anders laughed bitterly and poured himself onto the opposite end of the couch, bending one leg up onto the cushion to face Cullen. "You'll never hear me. No one ever did."  
  
The words made Cullen's blood run cold. Anders was a particular kind of lunatic, sure, but that uncanny silence had been such a feature of Kinloch Hold -- a tower built to enhance echoes and redirect whispers. "You're telling me you just don't scream?"  
  
"I'm a Warden. One of those things they don't tell you when you sign up is that you'll hear the broodmothers call to you in your sleep. Apparently, during a blight, you'll hear the Archdemon. I got lucky. I was a little late for that. Solona, though. Solona heard it. She doesn't talk about it. Nobody talks about it." A tiny strangled laugh slipped out of Anders and he washed it down with a sip of ouzo. "But, you can't be screaming yourself awake in the Deep Roads. Do you know the kinds of shit that wll hear you, down there? You scream, and you'll bring down the Carta, if you're lucky. Ogres, if you're not. And, you know, it's not like the tower was particularly conducive to late-night yowling, either. Nightmares aren't the only thing I can have, silently," he quipped.  
  
Cullen coughed and knocked back the rest of what was in his glass. "Quite a talent," he managed.  
  
"Skill," Anders corrected. "Almost glad you don't have it. Just... kind of feel better about the world."  
  
"I wish I could do it. I wake you up; I wake Anton; I wake the dog; I wake the poor Lieutenant in the next room in the barracks. You wake people up, and suddenly it's their business, too." Sighing deeply, Cullen put his feet up on the table and leaned back into the couch.  
  
"Scare the shit out of yourself," Anders said, quietly.  
  
"What?" Cullen blinked and squinted down the couch at him.  
  
"Scare the shit out of yourself," Anders repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "There needs to be something more frightening than the dream outside of it. Once you teach yourself that something else is worse, your mind will start compensating." He paused. "It works, but I really don't advise it."  
  
"You... really...?" Cullen paled at the thought of the things Anders must have feared.  
  
"Templars are fucking terrifying. I'd rather box an ogre." Anders paused awkwardly, halfway through a flippant chuckle. "Present company included."  
  
"Excluded," Cullen corrected, automatically.  
  
"Included," Anders repeated. "I'm not stupid. That fear keeps me alive."  
  
"I'm trying to convince myself that not every mage is an abomination waiting to happen, but after what happened... Some of the sweetest, kindest mages I knew turned into monsters in front of me." Cullen shifted uncomfortably. "But, that's demons. That's why they warn us all about demons. You really can't stop them, once they get inside your head."  
  
"You stopped them," Anders pointed out, setting his glass on the table, before Justice could start about that, again.  
  
"No," Cullen muttered. "Solona stopped them."  
  
"No, Cullen, you stopped them. Do you-- Did they tell you how many templars she couldn't save? She's told me the story. The demons got into them and they went just as fucking crazy as the mages. Being a templar doesn't make someone any less of an abomination, when the demons take them. Might make them less horrifically ugly, though. There's something about the magic and the demon that just ... I don't know, but I've seen it." Anders flicked a hand, dismissively. "The point is, however long you'd been in there, she got you out, because you were still there to be gotten out. They never got in. You never let them take you."  
  
"It was her. It was always her." Cullen tried to take a drink from his empty glass and scowled at it.  
  
Anders picked up his own glass and offered it. "Trade me."  
  
"Thank you." Cullen swapped glasses and went on. "I loved her, you know. I guess I still do, but not like that, not like I did then."  
  
"They always tempt you with the thing you want most. Why would they use anything less?" Anders asked, setting the empty glass aside. "They ruined her for you, didn't they?"  
  
"I didn't even recognise her as being real," Cullen admitted, taking a large swig. "This is fucking horrible. What am I drinking?"  
  
"Ouzo. It's Nevarran. It's not the good stuff, from back home, but you can't get that this far south, so there's just ouzo." Anders shrugged. "I like it. Tastes like the end of winter, when the cold winds come down from the mountains, and the spring floods are about to start. I used to get a bit in a glass of cold water on Wintersend, with those fig biscuits from the city."  
  
"Fig... biscuits? I don't think I've ever had a fig. Are they good?" Cullen blinked in confusion and stared down into the last milky-white dregs in his glass.  
  
"I like them, but I also drink ouzo." Anders grinned mischievously. "Come here, and I'll help you relax a bit. You look like your eyeballs are going to pop out from the pressure." He wiggled his fingers at Cullen. "No magic, if you don't want it, but I think it's better with."  
  
"Is that-- Are you-- I don't think Anton would approve," Cullen sputtered.  
  
"If I was, I think Anton's only complaint would be that he didn't get to play, too. But, no. I'm not. I'm one of the last, if not the last, healers in Kirkwall, and you look like crap, Captain. Trampled nugshit. And while I'd be the first to applaud the suffering of a templar, in most cases, I kind of like you, and whatever you deserve for what you've done, it's probably not this. This is a bit much for anyone who wasn't down in the fucking dark with me. Either way you could take that." The humour in Anders's smile crept out like something with too many legs. "So, come here, and I'll prove the worth of mages, once again."  
  
"You don't have to prove anything, Anders. I was wrong. That happens, sometimes." Cullen sighed and considered how much effort it would be to move toward Anders. "And for what it's worth, I wish I'd had the strength to help you, then. Never sat right with me, but they told me it was necessary. That it was hard, but I'd learn to do what was right."  
  
"Well, you did, but it took you a while, and I don't think it was quite what they had in mind." Anders snorted and helped Cullen into position, sitting against his bent leg.  
  
"How can you joke about it?" Cullen asked, faintly horrified at the memories, as Anders's fingers dug into his back.  
  
"How can I not?" Anders asked, a trickle of healing seeping from his fingers into Cullen's back. "It's over and I won. It cost me everything, but I got out, and I'm nearly untouchable, now."  
  
"Yes, but it cost you everything," Cullen pointed out.  
  
"Okay, yes, you had it a bit easier than I did," Anders admitted, after a moment. "And Solona's still alive. She saved us both. She's the hero, here, though I'm sure we both made darling damsels in distress."  
  
"You do wear dresses. Or you did," Cullen joked, as something shifted in his back and breathing became dizzyingly easier.  
  
"Says the man who wears skirts with his platemail," Anders retorted, sliding a hand up Cullen's chest. "Breathe in," he said, and shoved his other hand forward, when Cullen did, triggering a quick series of wet thumps. "Give it a few seconds."  
  
"What the fuck?" Cullen asked, dazed, as his head lolled back in a sudden rush of dizziness.  
  
"Ribs. Your chair sucks, by the way. Get Anton to buy you a new one." Anders chuckled, easing a wave of healing through Cullen's chest. "I haven't even seen your chair, but I don't need to. I'm touching your back."  
  
"If there's a chair that feels like this, I'm buying five," Cullen groaned, lifting his head. He moved with Anders's hands.  
  
"I don't know about feels like this, but it's definitely going to feel better than you did when I started." Anders shifted position and bent Cullen forward. "Put your hands on the couch. I don't want to knock you on your face, when I get to your lower back. Which is swollen. What have you been doing to yourself?"  
  
"The usual? I write reports and occasionally hit recruits with swords." Cullen shrugged, a motion it was notably smoother to make.  
  
"Drink more," Anders suggested, poking Cullen just above the back of his hips.  
  
Cullen squeaked and twitched away from the finger.  
  
"Definitely drink more. That'll hurt less." Anders massaged healing down the sides of Cullen's spine, easing a few minor tensions that got less minor the further down he moved. "You holding up?"  
  
"Mmm," Cullen hummed agreeably.  
  
"So, what I'm about to do is probably going to feel a lot better than I mean it to. Which isn't to say it's not supposed to feel good, but, ah..." Anders cleared his throat. "Let's just say it's got side effects, and that happens to everyone."  
  
"Side... effects?" Cullen sounded suddenly nervous.  
  
"You're going to want to take that out on Anton, when I'm through." Anders chuckled easily. "Lean forward a little more?"  
  
Cullen shot a discomfited glance over his shoulder, but leaned, as requested. "Please don't break anything, Anders."  
  
Anders scoffed. "So little faith!"  
  
His thumbs dug in, and the healing poured into the bowl of Cullen's hips. A warm moan spilled out, before Cullen could stop it, and Anders's hands moved quickly, pressing and pulling, drawing a dull crunch that echoed through Cullen's abdomen.  
  
"You all right?" Anders asked, fingers nudging gently at the edges of Cullen's spine.  
  
Cullen whimpered, pleadingly, thighs tensing under him. "I-- that is, I mean... I am..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I don't think I have ever felt this good in my life, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."  
  
Anders laughed, easily. "Sit up before you fall on your face," he suggested.  
  
"I feel like a custard," Cullen groaned. "A very runny custard."  
  
Anders cackled, but leaned forward and took hold of Cullen's shoulders. "Move with me. I'm going to lean back, slowly."  
  
After a bit of shifting, Cullen sprawled back against Anders's chest, seated between his thighs. Cullen kept his forearm draped across his lap, and Anders looked to the side, watching the fire, both of them trying to ignore the obvious tent in Cullen's nightshirt.  
  
"Well, this is definitely the first time I've been in this position with a templar. I wonder, is that worth more because you're Knight-Captain?"  
  
"Didn't realise you were keeping points. Should I get in a more templar-appropriate position?" Cullen muttered, eyes drifting shut.  
  
Anders shuddered. "Please don't. I've had enough templar-appropriate positions in my life. You should probably move your hips back, though, if you're going to stay there. I don't want you screwing up your back again, after I just fixed it."  
  
Cullen shifted back, before realising where that placed him. "I'm-- That's -- I shouldn't--"  
  
"You all right?" Anders asked, sweeping healing down Cullen's sides. "Throw something out, moving?"  
  
"No. That is to say..." Cullen cleared his throat but sat very still. "I'm leaning on you."  
  
"You have been." Anders sounded confused. "Maker, you're even tireder than I thought."  
  
"I mean that's..." Cullen shifted uncomfortably and then suddenly froze. "I'm leaning on your--"  
  
"Knob," Anders finally realised. "Not worried about it. You've been gentle, so far. No kicking, lashing, crushing, or binding. A very un-templary approach, really, just resting your back on it. I could make myself care that you're touching my junk with your spine, or I could just not."  
  
"Still feels like I'm doing something wrong," Cullen muttered, tugging at his own nightshirt.  
  
"Because I'm a mage, and your knob's throbbing, which is entirely my fault. I'd say you should go wake Anton with it, but that would involve stairs." Anders leaned back and rested his head on the bookcase to the side of the couch. His hands drifted up, and he started to absently massage Cullen's shoulders again. "Relax or you're going to fuck up all my hard work."  
  
"Relaxing's... a little difficult, you know," Cullen murmured, tightly. "And Anton's at his game."  
  
"So, do something about that, if it's so distracting," Anders advised, fingers still kneading Cullen's shoulders. "Just don't get any on me. Had enough lyrium-laced spunk on me for one lifetime."  
  
"I should get up," Cullen groaned, making no move to do so.  
  
"You should go to sleep," Anders argued. "You're exhausted."  
  
Cullen made a disgruntled sound and gestured at his lap.  
  
"It's a repairable condition," Anders drawled, tipping his head forward again, "if you've got the manual dexterity to fix it. If you don't, you could always ask me nicely, and I'll show you another use for magic. That was something they never figured out when I was down in the hole. I'm much more fun when I still sparkle."  
  
"Not making me feel any better about this," Cullen muttered, tiredly.  
  
"Told you, that happens to everyone," Anders sighed, draping an arm around Cullen's waist. "Usually, there's someone else around to solve that problem. Or, you know, at least it's not quite this kind of awkward if I offer to do it myself."  
  
"Not getting any less awkward," Cullen pointed out. "You're a mage. I'm a templar. And right now, we look like an Orlesian romance cover."  
  
"Now, now, if it was an Orlesian romance, we wouldn't be wearing such simple nightshirts. There would be ruffles and gold embroidery." Anders laughed. "This is still ridiculous."  
  
"If I did this myself, you'd still be... there. It's perverse," Cullen grumbled.  
  
"And if I did it for you, I'd be involved, so I wouldn't just be watching. Or trying not to watch. Instead, I'd be trying to forget that I can smell the lyrium in your sweat." Anders snorted and rested his chin on top of Cullen's head. "I'd still do it. I'm very good at what I do."  
  
"With magic?" Cullen asked, shifting to look up at Anders.  
  
"Or without, if you want." Anders shrugged. "Either way, it's going to be very good, and you're going to be very tired, after."  
  
"Already very tired," Cullen muttered. "With magic," he decided. "Please? I mean-- Shit, I shouldn't even be asking this. I should get up and go back to bed."  
  
Anders's fingers trailed along Cullen's thighs. "Say yes, and I'll keep going. Say no, and I stop. No hard feelings either way, unless they're in your smalls."  
  
"I'm not wearing smalls," which was not at all what Cullen had meant to say.  
  
"I meant it metaphorically," Anders replied, hands settling at the tops of Cullen's thighs. "Tell me what you want, Cullen. Unless it's to carry you up the stairs, because that's not happening."  
  
"Yes," Cullen breathed, barely audible. He wasn't going to ask, but he could agree to things. "Magic."  
  
"You tell me no, if you want me to stop," Anders said again, tugging Cullen's nightshirt up to where he could get a hand under it.  
  
Cullen tipped his head back and breathed, "Yes," again, as Anders's fingers touched his skin, pressed in behind his balls. And then a spark shot through him -- danced along his nerves, swirled warmly between his hips -- and he moaned, warmly, writhing against those fingers, against the hard chest at his back.  
  
Anders felt his lip curl with pride, but held his tongue. Wasn't this a change in the usual state of affairs? A templar lying between his thighs, moaning at his touch, panting for his magic. He could almost get used to this if the smell of lyrium-touched sweat wasn't so bloody nauseating.  
  
"Think of Anton," he whispered, wrapping his other hand around Cullen's shaft, with a quick grease spell. "Think of him hot and slick on you."  
  
"No," Cullen gasped, and Anders froze.  
  
"No?" Anders asked, unmoving, all the magic having pulled to a sudden halt in his hands.  
  
"Not Anton. Don't."  
  
Demons. Of course. "Shit, sorry. I didn't think. Looks like you're stuck with me, then. Good thing I'm pretty."  
  
"Yes," Cullen sighed, relaxing again. He paused. "Yes, you can start doing that again, not yes, you're pretty. I mean, I suppose you are, but I haven't really been looking? You know what, I'm just going to take your word for it."  
  
Anders choked out a strangled laugh. "For what it's worth, I'm not exactly swooning for your good looks, either. If you keep squirming like that, though, I'm going to be the one with the problem."  
  
"I could--" Cullen started to offer, but Anders cut him off with a stronger jolt that absolutely did nothing to stop the squirming and writhing.  
  
"No, you couldn't. I'm a Warden, and we'd both like to get some sleep, before tomorrow." Anders quickened his hand on Cullen's flesh. "But, you're welcome to imagine it, if it helps."  
  
Cullen bucked into the fist around his knob, one arm reaching up to hold onto the back of Anders's neck. "It doesn't."  
  
"Ah, then you're entirely dependent on my talents, and I should hurry the fuck up." Electricity came in waves from one hand, but the other dealt warmth and healing with every slick caress. This wouldn't take much longer, with the way Cullen's breath had already quickened.  
  
"Oh--" The sound started low in Cullen's chest and cut off in a sharp breath, as his thigh tensed, hips rocking jerkily. "Oh, Maker. Oh, Anders!"  
  
Anders bit his tongue. There were things that pleased him about this situation, and none of them were worth mentioning. None of them would help. He closed his eyes against Justice's insistence on the subject and squeezed a little tighter, stroked a little harder.  
  
Cullen's entire body tensed. "Anders, yes! Oh, Anders!"  
  
Anders smiled grimly, as Cullen spilled over his fingers. A templar captain crying out to him in ecstasy. No demands, no sneering disgust. And magic still in both his hands. It felt like some kind of triumph, really, and he gave Cullen a few more long, lazy strokes.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Later, when words word like words," Cullen panted, bringing his arm back down and rubbing his cheek against Anders's chest.  
  
"I'm going to take that as a yes," Anders decided, wiping his hand on Cullen's nightshirt, before pulling it back down.  
  
"Mmm," Cullen replied, shifting a bit to curl up against Anders.  
  
Anders leaned back and tried to calm Justice, as he draped his arms around Cullen and wished he'd actually gotten more of that ouzo into his mouth.

* * *

"... I feel like this should be on the next handbill for better mage/templar relations."  
  
Anders woke with a start, eyes darting to the doorway, where Anton looked terribly amused.  
  
"Do you guys need a blanket?" Anton asked, and Cullen made a small half-awake sound and buried his face against Anders's chest.  
  
"I really need you to carry your husband upstairs," Anders drawled, after a moment. "I wouldn't complain, but this couch is much too short, my feet are freezing, and my legs are numb."  
  
"Hmrff?" Cullen's eyes finally opened and lit immediately on Anton. "It's not what it looks like!" He jerked upright, catching his knee on Anders's leg and falling back onto the mage.  
  
"It's exactly what it looks like," Anders corrected. "Nightmares, a bit of drinking, and a night on the couch with the healer."  
  
"I have two brothers who have spent nights on a couch with this healer..." Anton started, with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, Anton, you should've been here. You missed a wide assortment of my talents being demonstrated on firm templar flesh." Anders yawned and stretched. "Really, though, Cullen. Get off me. I've got the worst crick in my leg."  
  
Anton made his way across the room to pull Cullen up. "Come on, Ser Templar. To bed with your ever-so-charming husband and very favourite bandit of asses."  
  
"More than I needed to know, Anton," Anders complained, dragging himself off the couch and rubbing heat back into his thighs.  
  
"I'm sorry," Cullen managed, finally, as the night before caught up with him. "I shouldn't have--"  
  
"Bullshit." Anders patted his shoulder. "You need something, you come get me. But, not in the next two hours, during which time I am going to reintroduce myself to the concept of warm."  
  
As Anders left the room, Anton studied Cullen closely, making note of a discoloured smear on his nightshirt. "Come to bed," Anton said, finally. "You look like you've been sleeping on the couch, and it's a terrible look on you. You look like you'd do much better with a soft bed and a good ravishing."  
  
"I-- This--" Cullen tugged at the stain. "Anton, I -- I shouldn't have--"  
  
"Are you going to tell me to kick his ass? Do I need to?" Anton asked, suddenly serious.  
  
"What? No!" Cullen looked confused.  
  
"Are you going to tell me how good he was, so I can add some more delightful facets to my repertoire?" Anton hooked a finger under Cullen's chin to keep it up.  
  
"That-- no. No. And no."  
  
"Are you going to apologise to me for not inviting me to this little party?"  
  
"Apologise, yes, but not--"  
  
"Then I don't need to hear it. And you definitely don't need to apologise, however much I might've wanted to watch." Anton smiled mischievously and slipped his forearms under Cullen's bottom, hefting him off the floor. "Come to bed, husband, dear. If it makes you feel better, you can make it up to me by satisfying my depraved lusts, before you go back to sleep."  
  
"You know, actually, that does. I still really need to stop doing this."  
  
"Going around without me?"  
  
"With mages," Cullen groaned.


End file.
